


Decent Fellows

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-28
Updated: 2003-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl





	Decent Fellows

**ONE**

It was a rare evening when the hobbits found themselves all together in their fair house. The days were so busy and there were so many comings and goings. But when they managed to gather themselves together, they had scores of tales ready for one another, for Minas Tirith was a busy city, and full of interesting people. The hobbits were always ready to compare notes, as it were, about quirky folk and strange goings-on. These conversations nearly always turned bawdy, as these were days of levity, and Minas Tirith was the first place they'd lingered long enough to get an idea about the customs of Men, who to their eyes were even more peculiar than the Elves.

"I heard the most interesting thing in the inn on Lampwright's Street," said Sam. "I went in for a pint and two of the lasses who serve there were having a talk."

"Eavesdropper!" Pippin said. Sam went red but continued.

"They were quite loud, I couldn't help but overhear, really I couldn't! So one of these lasses is complaining to the other. She...well, she'd had a tumble with someone the night before, I suppose, and she said...If I'm remembering correctly, she said, 'A man's not good for anything; he won't even hold you after he's tupped you.'"

This may seem like a simple, obvious accusation, except it was downright unheard of among hobbits, who are champion cuddlers, lads and lasses alike, and never refuse the opportunity to do so, before, during, or after relations.

"Why wouldn't he want to do that?" Merry said. "Do you think she meant men as in Men, or as in lads of all kinds?"

"Well she can't have been speaking of hobbits, because we _always_ want to have a snuggle afterwards."

"Actually, Sam," Frodo said, "I have to assume that she wasn't speaking of hobbits because she's surely never bedded one! Unless one of you lot has been up to something."

A quick series of exchanged glances assured that none of them had been offered the favors of the Women of Minas Tirith.

"I just don't understand," Sam said. "Why would anyone deny a lass a nice cuddle?"

"It can't be, it simply can't," Merry lamented. "Perhaps she was just unlucky, and found herself a fool who knows no better. Certainly all Men cannot be so unenlightened. Can they?"

Frodo frowned. He was disappointed that the conversation had turned coarse yet again, but this new revelation saddened him. "Before I met Strider...er, Aragorn...er, the King Elessar...wait, is he Elessar or Estel now? Well anyway, you know who I'm talking about. The scruffy one. Before I met him, I always thought Men were rather stupid. Meeting him certainly changed my mind, but I guess I was right all along."

"But how can we know for certain?" said Sam. "I really would like to know that Men are not so discourteous to their mates."

There was a silence, while each pondered this question. It would be impolite to go about questioning the people of Minas Tirith, who were hosting them so graciously. And there was, of course, no opportunity to watch a tumble taking place, so mere observation was out of the question. There was really only one way, and Pippin, who was after all the most mischievous, spoke up first.

"One of us will have to find out. One of us has to seduce a Man."

The others did not even pretend to be shocked at the suggestion, for the thought had entered their minds as well. They looked round at one another, searching for signs of eagerness on anyone's face., but the common expression seemed to be one of trepidation.

"How are we supposed to do that?"

"Oh, it would be quite easy," Pippin said. "If it's true, what I've heard, it's no task at all to get a Man to tup you, even if you're not so much to look at."

"Ah, so even you could do it then, Pip!" Merry said, and then looked to Frodo and Sam to make sure they'd heard what a clever joke he'd made at Pippin's expense.

"But they're Men!" Sam said, horrified. "They're quite oversized. How are we supposed to find out if they like to cuddle after relations, when there's a very good chance we might not survive 'til the end!"

Pippin shrugged. "That's a risk I'm willing to let one of you take."

"Ah, but that's just the problem," Merry said. "Which one of us should do it? And to whom?"

"It should be Strider," said Pippin. "He's the perfect choice. Here he is, all settled into his new place, big bed, warm fireplace, and the Lady Arwen isn't due to arrive for weeks. I'll bet he's desperate for a poke."

"What an awful thing to say!" Frodo cried. "And about the King, no less!"

"I hate to agree with him, Mister Frodo," Sam murmured, "but he's right. And there's no Man in this city we know better than Strider. But he's fondest of you, I'm sure."

"You're not suggesting..."

"Frodo, you'd be perfect for the job!" Merry beamed.

"What do you mean, perfect? I've got...very little experience in those matters. I wouldn't know how to seduce him."

"That's why you'd be so perfect! You're so innocent! Men love to put their mark all over virgin territory, and you've got more virgin territory than the rest of us combined!" Merry grinned; he was on a roll tonight. Frodo had colored up to his eyes. He was trying to think of a way to get out of this, though he got the impression that any effort he might made just be putting off the inevitable. "Maybe we should, I don't know, draw straws or something."

Merry nodded. "Fair enough. Except we haven't got any straws. Hmm." He had a look about the room. There was some parchment on the writing desk. He tore four pieces off a corner of one sheet, and with the nearby quill drew an "X" on one of them. "I'm going to put these in this bowl," he explained, and with all the authority of a herald he announced, "Whoever draws the one with the X on it has to seduce the King."

Pippin drew first; he reached above his head and into the bowl, fishing around a bit before plucking a piece of the parchment. He unfolded it and displayed that it was blank. Sam went next. Merry lowered the bowl a bit, as he was much taller than Sam now. Sam fished out a scrap and unfolded it. No "X."

Frodo reached into the bowl with his eyes squeezed shut. When he retrieved a scrap, he unfolded it, and did not bother to look at it; the reaction of the others told him which it was.

"Congratulations!" Merry slapped Frodo on the back. "You'll do great, I just know it."

Frodo sighed. "I have to do EVERYTHING."

Sam came up and put an arm around his master. "I'd help you if I could, Mister Frodo, but I think Strider prefers Elvish types, anyway."

 

 **  
TWO**

The first grievance that Aragorn had as King was that the throne was too comfortable. He had taught himself to fall asleep leaning against sharp rocks, in the cold and damp, or amid deafening noise. Now he was spending his days in a great soft cushioned chair, engaged in boring chatter. As each afternoon drew to an end, it was hard to keep his eyelids up.

"Whoever is the next to see me," he told the guard, "let him be the last one for today."

The guard opened the door and admitted Frodo. "Well, hello," Aragorn said, suddenly lifted from his drowsy stupor. "What can I do for you, Frodo?"

"I just wanted you to know," Frodo said meekly, "that Gandalf is still waiting for you in the banquet room. You promised to dine with him this evening. He wants to know where you are."

"That's right," Aragorn said. He was not known for being late. "These new days have been so strange, I have lost track of time. I thought I was retiring early, but in fact..." He went to the window and looked to the sun's position in the sky. "...it would seem I've labored quite late. If you can call this labor. I feel restless. Would you like to walk with me to the banquet room? We'll go the long way; Gandalf can wait a few minutes more."

Frodo joined Aragorn in wandering the winding corridors of the Citadel. He asked Aragorn what matters of import he'd been faced with that day. Aragorn answered with no enthusiasm. "But how have you been faring?" he asked. The first thing that came to Frodo's mind was that he was homesick. But a little voice in his head, a voice that sounded remarkably like Pippin's, told him, _Don't just say it, silly! Get close to him and whisper it, like it's a secret_. Frodo had no choice but to obey, and he tugged at Aragorn's sleeve to get him to lean down, and whispered in his ear, "I'm very homesick."

When Aragorn felt the rush of hot breath over his ear and neck, he shivered, and his lips parted. But he maintained his composure, and still leaning down, turned to look at Frodo. "I understand completely. I think I may be a little homesick myself."

They continued walking. "But you are home," Frodo said, then realized that he should have whispered it, so he lowered his voice, and repeated, "You are home. How can you pine for it?"

"For years I have wandered Middle Earth, occasionally having fixed abodes but knowing that my true home was in Gondor, even if I might never find myself welcomed there. I have dreamed of these days, and thought that only when they arrived could I be satisfied. But I am here, and I realize now that now my duties will keep me occupied, and I will not have as many opportunities for travel as I would like. Now I must face the fact that my blood and my sword may belong here, but my heart belongs to all of Middle Earth. And so I will ever be homesick, for I cannot reside in one place and truly call it home."

Pippin's voice in Frodo's head made a wry comment about where certain other parts of Aragorn's body belonged, but Frodo was quiet. They had arrived at the banquet room. "We must meet again this evening to continue our conversation," Aragorn said, suddenly formal. "But for now Gandalf wishes to counsel me in confidence. He's being very close, as usual."

"Where shall I find you, and when?"

"You may wait for me in my quarters, if you wish. There is a library there," he smirked, "assuming you are in the mood to read musty old tales of the bygone days of Men."

"As a matter of fact, I am very interested in Men right now," Frodo said. "I see big things happening for them in the years to come."

"All good, I hope, according to your foresight. Now, if you'll excuse me, Gandalf awaits." Aragorn left Frodo standing in the corridor. Frodo had no idea how to get to Aragorn's quarters from where he was. He asked a passing guard, who acted like he would have gladly led Frodo to the counting house and handed him a sack. "Right this way, Master Baggins. It's an honor to assist you. Is there anything else I can do for you? Have you supped? Let me bring you something."

"Whatever's handy," said Frodo. "And an ale, as well, if you please." He was sure he would benefit from being a little besotted when Aragorn returned and the moment of truth arrived.

The antechamber of Aragorn's quarters was enormous, and it had doorways going off in all directions. Frodo found books stacked and shelved in a sitting-room, but when the food was brought he carried it, and a few books, into the bedchamber. He climbed up on the bed and leaned on a pillow, lolling about and nibbling a slice of bread while he perused a volume of Numenorian history. Reading tales of the Numenorians' alliances with legendary Elves like Gil-Galad made Frodo sad, for it reminded him that the days of Elves in Middle Earth were numbered; soon they would have no more to teach mortals, and would not come to their aid in battle.

When Frodo heard Aragorn open the antechamber door, he panicked. He'd gotten crumbs all over the bed, and probably in the pages of the books, as well. He did his best to clean up in ten seconds, and then Aragorn entered.

"Ah, I was afraid you would tire of waiting for me, and leave."

"Quite the contrary," Frodo said sheepishly. "I lost track of time. These books, they're very interesting."

"Oh? What have you been reading?"

Frodo told him what he'd been studying and thinking about, the Elves and all. Aragorn told Frodo not to mourn, not for Elves nor for mortals. Both had glorious days ahead of them.

Frodo stood up and walked to the window. "You have a much better view of the stars than I do in my little room," he said. "But I guess that's only proper." There was a long silk couch before the window, and Frodo sat there, gingerly, afraid he would be forbidden. But Aragorn moved to join him.

"No one," he said, "deserves a better view of the stars than anyone else. They belong to all of us, while they are here."

"But Men do not love the stars. They love the sun," Frodo murmured.

"That is true. The Valar do not favor Men the way they do the Elves."

Frodo leaned against Aragorn and closed his eyes. "Tell me about the awakening of the Elves. You know so much Elf lore." Frodo knew the story very well himself, but it was one of his favorites, and he wished to hear it in Aragorn's voice. So Aragorn put an arm round him and told the tale of how Iluvatar awakened the Elves at Cuivienen, and how the first things the Children of Iluvatar looked upon were Elbereth's stars, and so fell in love with them, and with her.

"Has an Elf ever wed a Vala?" Frodo asked.

"As a matter of fact, one Elf took a Maia to wife. Her name was Melian. She has long left our shores, but still a drop of her blood flows in my veins, and so she remains here in part."

"You are a descendant of Valar _and_ Elf-kind? Oh, I should have guessed. You are so much more than an ordinary Man." Aragorn did not reply. Frodo was afraid that he had already crossed a line, and that Aragorn would reject him. "Have I spoken out of turn?" he said.

"Not at all. It pleases me to speak of aught besides judgments and decrees."

"Do you already grow weary of being King?"

"No," Aragorn shook his head. "All my life I have waited and labored for this. I am ready to be King, for all my days remaining."

Frodo sat up. "But what about the nights? I had hoped to spend tonight with my old friend Strider."

"Very well. Tonight I will be whomever you want me to be."

"Then I will confess," Frodo said. "Tonight I want you to be my lover." Aragorn was speechless, and so Frodo took the silence as an opportunity. He got his knees under him so they could sit eye to eye, and then he leaned forward, and they were lip to lip. Already Frodo felt overwhelmed, even though he was the aggressor. There was so much of Aragorn to seduce, and his own lips and hands seemed very small at that moment.

It was Aragorn who stopped it, after quite while, and held Frodo's face in his hands to take a good look at him.

Frodo's eyes widened. "You're not going to say no, are you?" He pouted for dramatic effect.

"Oh, Frodo, there is nothing I could deny you, after all you have done." Aragorn caressed that protruding lower lip with tenderness.

"Then," Frodo said, and looked deeply into Aragorn's eyes, "you would allow me to rule Gondor and Arnor at your side?"

Aragorn started at this, and Frodo laughed. "No, but I jest. You can just tup me and we'll call it even."

It has already been noted that Frodo is a hobbit of little experience. And so whatever Aragorn did, Frodo accepted it, and enjoyed it. He assumed that Aragorn knew what was best for him, and trusted the Man to show him how things were done. He let Aragorn take his clothes off, and when A gestured to him to return the favor, he did the best he could. When a moment passed and Aragorn did not seem to be directing him, he would use the moment to explore, seeing what kinds of reactions he could get by kissing different places on the Man's body, watching the flesh tremble, the tiny hairs stand on end. And when Aragorn guided him to do things, he did them, like lying on his back and bringing his knees up. Frodo had only the most rudimentary knowledge of what two lads did together in bed, and left it to Aragorn to teach him. He assumed there would be some sort of rubbing together of parts, but he was shocked at the excited way Aragorn did it, and wondered if he wasn't going to rub their parts right off. They were both breathing hard, but when Aragorn breathed hard it was to Frodo like a tempest. Aragorn was grinding against him, or rather, he was holding Frodo fast and grinding Frodo against himself. Frodo was sure now that he would not survive the night, and then suddenly Aragorn stopped. He was looking for a clay jar, which, according to his mumblings, apparently contained some kind of salve. When he found it he quickly put his fingers in it, and Frodo became a bit concerned, as he had no idea what Aragorn was doing or why he felt it necessary to stop now. But he started to really worry when Aragorn grasped his buttocks and ran his fingers up and down the cleft between. He was pushing with one finger like he was trying to get inside. "What are you doing?" Frodo said, but Aragorn shushed him. He pushed against the opening again, but it did not yield to him.

"Let me inside, Frodo," he said, "and you will discover an exquisite pleasure."

Frodo tried to relax, only because he trusted Aragorn above all other Men, and slowly Aragorn was able to press inside. When his finger touched that little spot within, a place so secret even Frodo did not know about it. Frodo's wide eyes went glassy. "You are a sorcerer! What have you put inside me?"

"Nothing at all; you've had it all along." Aragorn pushed again with his finger and Frodo shuddered. With his free hand Aragorn fondled Frodo's hard member. Frodo wriggled this way and that, trying to find a way to move to make it feel even better.

"Ooh, yes, that's very nice..." It was only after a few minutes that Frodo realized that there was only one ending to what he'd begun, and it was between Aragorn's legs. "I suppose," he whispered, "that you have ambitions for my body beyond that finger."

Aragorn shrugged and began to withdraw. "Only if you want to..."

"Wait." Frodo stayed Aragorn's hand. "Do it once more. To give me courage."

Aragorn resumed, this time stroking Frodo's thighs while massaging his sweet spot. "Alright, I'm ready now," Frodo said unconvincingly, and sat up. Aragorn let Frodo push him down onto the bed and climb on top of him. "I'm ready," Frodo chanted, "I'm ready," trying to make himself believe.

"Use the salve," Aragorn said, and Frodo leaned over him to retrieve it. Aragorn couldn't resist, as Frodo was so close, and pulled him down to give him reassuring kisses. He gripped Frodo's shoulders, to bring him near, then tugged at his nipples with rough fingertips, then slid his hands down Frodo's sides to finally grasp his soft rump. Frodo giggled and reached again for the salve. It felt cold, and he rubbed it between his palms before applying it to Aragorn's erection. He spent a rather long time doing this, as he was nervous and had no other way to delay the unavoidable. Aragorn enjoyed Frodo's attentions at first, but urged him to get on with it, or else he might spill into Frodo's hands. This gave Frodo ideas, but he didn't want to make Aragorn unhappy, so he swung one leg over the Man's thighs and held his member with one hand so as to guide it into himself. He found the right place with certainty, for it was already a little sore from Aragorn's large finger. As he lowered himself, Frodo thought, _If only I can get it to press against that place inside me, I could feel a pleasure that might overcome the pain._

And sure enough, when he had pushed down just a little ways onto Aragorn, he felt that same delicious sensation inside him, and wriggled to try and prolong it. It was an ache as well, but a good one, and it spread through his whole body, even down his limbs. He pulled up and pushed down again, and again, and the blunt tip of Aragorn's member squarely hit Frodo's sweet spot. Now he felt some measure of gratification. But to Aragorn, Frodo had taken him in only a little, and his thrusts were short, barely perceptible. He seized Frodo's rump with both hands and tried to push him down, to lengthen the strokes, but Frodo resisted him. He took Aragorn's hands off his behind and moved them to where they could be of more use: his erection. Due to his overlarge hands, Aragorn's strokes were just as truncated as Frodo's. But once their rhythms were synchronized, Frodo felt something start to build in him, something so devastating he feared to continue, but Aragorn was murmuring and egging him on, and so he let it happen. It felt so good, and it hurt; his muscles tightened around Aragorn, and he cried out, and spilled onto Aragorn's belly, and he wasn't sure when it was all over, but now Aragorn was making high noises, and he held Frodo's hips so tight and thrust so hard, Frodo thought Aragorn might crush his little body from within and from without. Aragorn was completely still, and did not draw breath, while his seed was emptied into Frodo, but when he finished he opened his eyes and gasped and looked around, as if he feared someone had seen.

Frodo let Aragorn's softened member slide out of him as he leaned aside to fall on the cool sheets. He was exhilarated; his flesh tingled and his pulse raced. He feared to move, lest his heart burst within his chest. His only desire was for Aragorn to comfort him; to wrap those long, powerful arms round him and ease his devastation. But he could not speak, and so instead gave him a powerful, imploring look. Aragorn gazed back, his eyes roaming over Frodo's body, but did not touch him. He pulled the sheets up over Frodo to cover his trembling nakedness, and then extinguished the lamp on the bedside table. Frodo could feel his body heat close by, could smell the fresh sweat on his skin, but did not feel his touch in the darkness, and so wondered if he was sharing this bed with a specter, a dream.

 

 **THREE**

"It is sad but true," said Frodo. "The King did not take me in his arms after he had me."

"And here I thought he was a decent fellow," Sam lamented. They smoked their pipes thoughtfully for a moment, and pondered this tragedy of Men.

"But we don't know," Merry finally picked up the conversation. "I mean, Strider is not a typical Man in general. Very aloof, he is. Now that I think of it, why should we suppose that he would be affectionate after he's taken his pleasure?"

"Frodo, you should try someone else," Pippin said. "Someone more typical, like Faramir."

"Faramir is typical?" Sam said.

"You're asking me to have another go?" Frodo went pale. "I'm still exhausted from the last time! Men are very demanding, you know. Or rather, you _don't_ know, because I'm the one that had to find out! Men don't just put their arms around you, like decent folk. They find parts of you they like, and have a grab at those. You feel like you're being pulled a thousand ways. It's very tiring."

"Well it should be!" Merry laughed. "If having a tumble didn't make you tired, how would hobbits get to sleep at night?"

 **  
FOUR**

Frodo's knock was timid, but Faramir heard it. "Enter," he said. It sounded like it came from farther away than just the other side of the door. The antechamber was dark; warm light came from the bedroom. The sound of sloshing water could be heard. Frodo padded toward the light.

Faramir was bathing in a brass tub. Firelight reflected off it and lit the bedchamber in gold and ginger. Frodo stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, not meaning to whisper but doing so anyway.

Faramir turned to see who his visitor was. "Ah, Master Baggins, it is good to see you." (Frodo almost answered, instinctively, "It's good to see you, too," but stopped himself.) "You're not disturbing me at all. Please come in."

"I can return later if you wish, when you're not so...engaged."

"Don't be silly," Faramir said. "It's not often I have the chance to relax with a good friend, and I'm just finishing up, anyway." He stood up in the bath and stretched, heedless of Frodo's wide eyes. "I am not a homebody, but I must confess, it feels good to be in my own quarters." He stepped out of the tub and walked, wet and naked, to sit in front of the stone fireplace, where a stack of luxurious red bath towels awaited him. He sat with one beneath him, wrapped one round his shoulders, and dried himself with a third. "Don't get me wrong, Minas Tirith has the finest Houses of Healing in all of Middle Earth. And of course now that I have been discharged from them, I should be eager to get back to my duties." He rubbed the towel up and down his long limbs, and around the places where those limbs converged with his body, and the firelight fluttered on his damp skin. "But I have much toil behind me, and there is much more that lies ahead, so I do not think it is too indulgent to take one evening for a fine private supper and a bath. Do you?"

He gestured to the table near the bed, where there were dishes piled, and also a couple of glass jars sitting open, and a bottle of wine, which Frodo could see was half-empty. Frodo had entered Faramir's quarters expecting that the seduction of this noble gentleman would be long and drawn out: a few pleasantries, some talk of the brave and dearly-missed Boromir. Faramir would grow melancholy, thinking about his beloved brother, and Frodo would need to comfort him with an embrace, which would become a bit of light fondling, which would be come a it of not-so-light fondling, and so on. But now, Frodo suspected that seducing Faramir was going to be only slightly more difficult than _not_ seducing him.

Rangers were peculiar, when it came to being unclothed. They paid no mind to it; Frodo had discovered this in his travels with Aragorn. It was seldom that they found a place suitable for bathing on their quest, but when they did, they would set up camp and Aragorn would just strip off his clothes and leap into the water without so much as a "You might want to look the other way." Not that hobbits were necessarily ashamed to undress, but they tried not to do it in mixed company.

When Faramir had dried himself, he asked Frodo to bring him the dressing gown, which had been laid on the bed. Frodo picked it up; it was quite heavy, a thick red velvet that matched the towels, embroidered, almost floor length, with overlong sleeves. In it Faramir looked very princely indeed.

"Rarely do I have a chance to indulge in such finery," he said. "Since I came of age my duties have ever called me from the comforts of home. But I do go on, don't I? Tell me, dear Frodo, how do you fare?"

Frodo was sure that nothing would kill the mood faster than if he told Faramir how he truly had been feeling of late, the whole depth and breadth of his emotion, so instead he said simply, "In your fair city, I have found naught but kindness and hospitality. Never have I known such gratitude." Faramir sat down on the enormous, sumptuous bed, and gestured to Frodo to sit net to him. _Alright_ , Frodo thought, _hurry up and get to the seducing before he beats you to it._ He climbed up on the bed. "And yet," he continued, "I yet feel...unfulfilled." Which was not a lie.

"Is that so," said Faramir. "You know I would do anything to satisfy any desire that you might have."

"Is that so," said Frodo. And gulped. Faramir was a nice Man. A _very_ nice Man. But Frodo wasn't sure he was ready to have his desires fulfilled again. He was still walking funny from the last time. _Ah well, time to take one for the team_ , he thought.

Faramir was dimly backlit, almost silhouetted in the lamplight, but shining in that soft glow was a strand of his damp golden hair, which was caught at the corner of his mouth. He hadn't seemed to notice. "Oh," said Frodo, "you have a..." He reached out to sweep it back into place, and his finger brushed across Faramir's cheekbone. "Sorry," he said, and laughed nervously, but didn't take his hand away. He slid the fingertip back, and for no good reason gently pressed it to the sensitive corner of Faramir's lips. Faramir smiled against it and took Frodo's hand in his own so he could kiss the fingertip and guide it into his mouth. Frodo could feel Faramir's inner lip, then his teeth, then his tongue as they caressed him, played with him. Faramir did not seem to mind that the adjacent finger was missing; he continued his ministrations over Frodo's entire hand, kissing where it would best be kissed, and gently sucking or licking where it was best to do so. There seemed to be something in Frodo's hand that was directly linked to what went on between his legs, and suddenly he felt silly that a minute ago he had been the seducer, and now he was being reduced to goo and Faramir was barely touching him. Frodo wished to apologize for thinking himself a Lothario, and pretending that this Steward and Prince was as easily ensnared as a lamb, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was "Ungh..."

Faramir didn't wait and he didn't ask. He sat up so that he had one knee on the mattress and one foot on the floor, for leverage, and lifted Frodo to lay him down properly in the middle of the bed. Then, with long, skilled hands he unfastened every button Frodo had. When his skin was bared Frodo shivered, though the fire and Faramir's close heat were more than enough to keep him warm. But nothing was as hot as Faramir's mouth around him, and Frodo whimpered as he was again kissed, or licked, or sucked, as was deemed appropriate.

He delighted in this new pleasure, for unlike the others it was not bound up in pain. He begged Faramir never to stop, and then, more reasonably, asked him to slow down a bit, for he feared the pleasure would be all to brief if it continued at such a pace. Frodo became light-headed, as it seemed all his blood and his nerves were gathering at the base of his spine, and in his belly. Then there was a deep feeling, not of release, but of something rushing through him, and when he finished he marveled that he could feel so filled and so emptied at the same time. Faramir sat up to look at Frodo stretching and sighing. "Oh, Faramir, that was so much better..."

"Better than what?" Faramir asked.

"Oh." Frodo cursed his loosened tongue and wondered how he could at this point NOT reveal that just the night before he'd had a roll with Faramir's successor. "Better than...being by myself, you know." He tried to fake a blush, but found he couldn't, which was a disappointment considering how well and regularly he did it on an involuntary basis. "A very lonely hobbit, I am."

"Well, I shall keep you company as long as you dwell in my city."

"You are very kind," Frodo said, and smiled. "How can I ever repay you?" Frodo then saw that Faramir's dressing gown was open, and he was dreadfully aroused. "Oh. Yes. THAT way." He cleared his throat.

"You would prefer cleaning the stables? Or perhaps polishing my weaponry?"

Frodo wrapped both hands around Faramir's erection. "I thought that's what I was about to do."

He prompted Faramir to lie back and take his place on the bed, and then crawled on top of him and eyed his erection. _Oh dear_ , he thought, _this affair of difference in size is getting me into a lot of binds_. Faramir touched the head of his hard member to Frodo's lips, but Frodo did not open up. "Oh, a tease, you are," said Faramir, and gently stroked Frodo's neck. "Come on now, don't be shy. Just the tip, if you like. I won't force it on you."

Frodo looked up into Faramir's eyes with not a little trepidation, but also curiosity. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, just enough so that Faramir could press the tip between his soft parted lips. Just then a little of his seed came out, and Frodo tasted it an drew back. It was bitter.

"What's wrong?" Faramir asked, and Frodo covered his mouth with two fingers while he eyed Faramir's member with suspicion. "Oh, you don't like the taste. That is a common grievance."

At that Frodo wrinkled his brow, disappointed that he of all hobbits was daunted by a "common grievance." He looked back at Faramir with grim determination, and as he did so took the devious member again in his mouth. With a few well-placed swirls of the tongue he had Faramir whimpering, but he did not continue long. He simply could not abide that taste in his mouth. But Faramir was in no mood to stop. He thought for a moment of some way to coax Frodo into continuing. "What if," he said, glancing at the nearby table "I put something on it? Something that tasted good?" He gathered his dressing gown around him and went to the table, from whence he retrieved a jar. He handed it to Frodo, who put a finger in and had a taste. It was honey. Frodo nodded and handed the jar back to Faramir, who used his finger as a dripper to anoint the head of his member. Frodo dropped his head down and lapped the honey away. Immediately when he finished he looked up to implore Faramir, and Faramir dripped some more. This time the honey droplets trickled down his length, and Frodo's tongue darted this way and that to catch them. Each time Faramir applied more sweetness, Frodo lingered longer after it was gone. He was becoming accustomed to the act, and Faramir's little cries of pleasure were more delicious than the honey.

Then something awful happened. Faramir hit his peak, and he made a beautiful noise, and Frodo's mouth filled up with his seed. Frodo flung himself back as if wounded. He tried to swallow it without tasting it, like unsavory medicine, but gagged anyway. Faramir was instantly attentive. He and handed Frodo the towel he'd cast aside, so Frodo could spit. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I should have warned you when I was going to do that." He stroked Frodo's back for a moment, and was about to hold him, to comfort him, but seeing the bottle of wine on the table he got an idea. Taking up a glass, he poured Frodo some. "Have a sip of this, it will rid your mouth of the taste." Frodo held the glass in both hands and drank deeply. Faramir leaned back against the headboard and watched Frodo until he was sure the hobbit was soothed. He really was sorry to cause Frodo so much distress, but truth be told he was very drowsy, and nodded off while Frodo poured himself another glass. Frodo sat cross-legged on the bed and drank it and listened to Faramir's breathing as it slowed. He was still upset, but now that the taste was out of his mouth he said to himself that it hadn't really been SO bad, and it was nice to make Faramir happy. Frodo could not deny that it excited him to see and hear a Man in the heat of his passion. He thought about having one more glass, but he was already light-headed and sleepy, so he set the glass on the floor beside the bed and curled up next to Faramir, who mumbled but did not wake.

 

 **FIVE**

Frodo had hoped to catch up with Aragorn and Faramir the next day, but not at the same time. A guard told him that Aragorn was taking a short afternoon retreat just outside the city walls. Frodo sought him out; he was munching on some fruits, under the tree of which he was seated. Faramir had decided to accompany him. "Greetings, Frodo," Aragorn said. "Come to join us? You are welcome to."

"Oh, I'm just passing through, actually," Frodo lied. "I'm on my way home, as it were, to sup with Pippin and Sam."

"Well, don't let us keep you from a meal," Aragorn laughed. "But don't be a stranger, hm? It will be good to have another walk with you soon."

At that Faramir looked to Frodo also, and winked.

Frodo cleared his throat and excused himself. As he left, Aragorn and Faramir both smiled and sighed. Hearing each other, they turned and saw in each other's eyes the same far-away look of reminiscence.

"Faramir," said Aragorn. You didn't. Did you?"

"Did _you_?"

"Oh my," Aragorn said, and looked back in the direction that Frodo had gone. "That's quite uncharacteristic of Frodo. I wonder what has gotten into him."

"...Yes, now that we know _who_ has..."

"Don't be disgusting."

There was a long pause, broken by Faramir. "He's very good, though, isn't he?"

"That he is," Aragorn agreed. "A bit peculiar, though. You know, after I had taken him, he was quite shaken. The experience was, I am sure, overwhelming to him, having had no prior encounters. Or so he told me. He seemed fit to shatter, like a fine crystal goblet, were I to lay a hand on him. He assured me that he was quite content, but the way he looked at me, I was sure he was begging me not to touch him, lest I crush him to me with force beyond my control. I let him alone, though it pained me to refuse the temptation, so he could recover. But though I dared not touch him with my hands, my eyes could not resist, and wandered over him, caressing his body. I hoped that he felt my affection in the form it had taken by necessity."

Faramir thought on this, and lamented, "I faced a similar difficulty. I did my best to please Frodo, and thinking back he seemed very much to enjoy himself, but towards the end our lovemaking took, shall I say, a bitter turn, and this unfortunate end tainted all. Afterwards he seemed in no mood for another attempt on my part to please him, lest it also go awry. I desired his warmth in my arms and near my heart, but I could not risk making a bad situation worse."

"It is a sad state of affairs," said Aragorn. "My knowledge of hobbits is limited, but my understanding was that they are very affectionate. But it would seem that they are not even inclined to be held after being bedded, whether the conclusion is satisfactory or not. It made me glad, to see that hobbits were so light-hearted and quick to lavish affection. I was looking forward to Frodo being so. But now we discover that they do not even indulge in cuddling after such pleasure has been taken."

"One should keep in mind, though," Faramir pointed out, with a spark of hope in his voice, "that Master Baggins is an unusual hobbit. I say this without malice, of course, as his exceptional nature is the result of his strange fate. But perhaps others of his kind do not eschew affection as he does. Surely hobbits as a race could not refuse such a good and simple pleasure?"

Aragorn looked at Faramir and cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps. But how can we know for certain?"


End file.
